


WORLD AND TIME ENOUGH

by Wolfiekins



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Star Trek
Genre: Crossover, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Extreme angst, M/M, Male Slash, Science Fiction, Vampirism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 14:40:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2655686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfiekins/pseuds/Wolfiekins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immortality.  Sounds great, especially if you're a Wizard and bonded to the love of your life.  But change is the one constant in the universe that even vampires cannot deny, nor ignore.  The Harry Potter 'verse taken into the twenty-fourth century Trek 'verse.  Yeah, I know...</p><p>WARNINGS:  M/M Slash, Romance, Minor Fluff, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Situations, Vampirism, Extreme Angst</p>
            </blockquote>





	WORLD AND TIME ENOUGH

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [FLING WIDE THE WHIRLWIND](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/84464) by Thevina. 



> Set in the late 24th century firmly within the _STAR TREK_ 'verse.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all associated characters and settings remain the intellectual property of JK Rowling and her associates. No offence intended nor monies made through this presentation. Star Trek, and all associated characters and settings remain the intellectual property of Paramount Pictures, the estate of Gene Roddenberry, Majel Barrett, et al.
> 
> The title of this story is taken from Eric Mueller's 1996 film of the same name. 
> 
> All the details about Deneb and its languages and customs are my creations.
> 
> Finally, while the HP characters depicted here ultimately are the property of JKR, it must also be acknowledged that the characterizations in this story are based on those written by the lovely and talented Thevina, as portrayed in her story, FLING WIDE THE WHIRLWIND. The characters of Vamp! Ron, Harry, Martin and Marilena from that work belong completely and solely to her, and are presented here with her kind permission.
> 
> It should be noted that one might wish to read FLING WIDE THE WHIRLWIND prior to reading this story.

**__**

 

**__**

 

**_~~~~~~~~~~_ **

 

**All lovers young, all lovers must  
** Consign to thee, and come to dust.  
_\--Cymbeline, IV, ii_

 

**_Wednesday, 29 May, 2396_ **

 

"Q'lah m'peng duom pran'olo, comes'sa?"

Ron stared up at the server, his face a mask of confusion. "What was that again?"

"Yo'ma, m'peng duom pran'olo," the server repeated, rolling his large, green eyes. He tapped on his padd with thick fingers, finally turning it around so that Ron could see the tiny screen.

"Oh, yeah, right," Ron stammered, fishing about in the pocket of his breeches. He pulled out a handful of hexagonal coins of various sizes, selecting the proper combination for his bill and tip. The server took them and nodded appreciatively as he moved away through the busy cafe.

"Bloody thing, " Ron muttered softly, fiddling with the tiny device pinned to his vest.

True, his universal translator was rather old and battered, but it was barely twenty years old. He sat at his small table, fussing with the tiny buttons set into the device's side as the crowd flowed by on the street next to him. He keyed the reset sequence once more, and with a happy sounding chirp, the tiny green indicator flashed three times and went out. He grinned as the alien gibberish around him suddenly switched over to Federation Standard. After all the time he'd spent on this planet, he'd never managed to master their language. There were so many nuances of tone, inflection and seemingly random pauses inherent in Denebian that very few humans mastered it. The fact that Denebians had an extra set of vocal chords didn't help matters. Most of the natives learned Standard as a result, and off-worlders wore translators.

Even though it was well past midnight, the city of Q'a'lenn was still alive with activity. The air was warm and moist, the slightest of breezes making it just about perfect. But then the weather was always like that on Deneb. Everywhere. Ron still wasn't used to the idea of global weather control. There had been no such thing in place when he'd left Earth. Hell, the Denebians even published a schedule of when it would rain and for how long. Most of the highly populated, industrialized worlds in the Federation were the same. At least in that respect, anyway.

It never ceased to amaze Ron that no matter how far out into the galaxy he went, people were still people. Sure, they might have blue skin or an extra set of arms or eyes, but the basics were always there: birth, death, love, hate, pain, pleasure, joy and regret. The Denebians were very nearly like humans in appearance, save for the fact that they displayed no variations in hair or skin color, and that they tended to be rather short and stocky when compared to Terrans.

All raven-haired, tanned beauties. Good genetics. Worked for him.

He sipped on his bwa'neth, the pale green liquid surprisingly like firewhiskey, both in flavour and effect.

Being a vampire, Ron's tolerance for alcoholic beverages was rather high. But bwa'neth was extremely potent, one glass usually enough to put the average mortal under the table. Ron was on his third glass, and he was just beginning to feel fine. The little cafe was a favourite, and even at this late hour, it was still filled to capacity. The wonderful aromas drifting from the kitchen were nearly overwhelming. Of course he didn't _need_ to eat, but he still liked to on occasion. Food still tasted every bit as good as it ever had, and there was something about sharing a meal with others that he still found appealing.

Old habits, he supposed.

Ron leaned back in his chair, sipping his drink. Yeah, people were just about the same everywhere, he mused, taking in the busy scene around him. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined that he would end up so far from home. Time could pass ever so slowly, or flash by at an obscene pace. Sometimes it seemed like only yesterday that he and Harry had shared a flat in Glasgow; other days, he could feel the huge span of decades so very clearly. Ron could still recall the look on Harry's face when he'd told him of his desire to visit Mars. Harry had given him 'the look', the expression that lay somewhere between revulsion and amusement which Harry reserved solely for him.

Life had been sublime since the night Harry scooped him up on that long lost motorcycle. They had spent the next eighty years together, exploring nearly every inch of the world, from Iceland to New Zealand, Antarctica to Australia, Madagascar to Tibet. They rarely stayed in one place for very long, preferring to keep to the wildest, least populated areas of the globe. Fewer mortals meant that they had to discover other ways to sustain themselves. Ron was at first skeptical when Harry had suggested that they feed on animals. Apparently, Harry had subsisted on a nearly steady intake of sheep and goat blood during the period that he lived in Iceland.

Ron had been surprised to find that draining a wild animal was actually rather satisfying.

As time marched on, however, those isolated places became fewer and far between. The Muggle world had made amazing technological advances, creating wondrous devices and space ships that could reach other planets. Strangely, it had been Ron who was most intrigued with the idea of space travel. Since neither he nor Harry knew if such a thing was possible for vampires, Ron had consulted Martin, who acknowledged that a few children of the Dark had indeed left their homeworld.

It had been a muggy late summer's night in September of 2262 when he and Harry boarded a cramped, dingy shuttle in Johannesburg. They had both flown on Muggle jets many times, but nothing compared to the sensation of the shuttle accelerating to near light speeds. They reached Mars in less than half an hour.

The planet hadn't been terra-formed then, the colonies there still a labyrinth of inter-connected domes. Since there was no real difference between night and day under the habitats, they were able to sleep and wake to their own schedule for the first time since they had been Changed. Feeding was somewhat problematic, however. As the colonial population was rather small, they were forced to rely on a combination of the Ministry blood substitute and feeding on each other. It wasn't an optimal situation, but they both adjusted to it rather well. They fed on mortals only rarely, healing and Obliviating their 'donors' afterward. Between the two of them, they managed to program their food replicator to provide the blood substitute; they stored the formula in the database as _'Molly's Tomato Bisque'_.

Ron barely finished his drink when the server plunked down another full glass of bwa'neth.

"P'o'nith," Ron offered with a smile. He must have gotten the intonations right, as the server bowed slightly, smiling.

"A'mon tus," he replied before turning and heading away.

Ron grinned, sipping his fresh bwa'neth. K'ayle had tried in earnest to help him learn to speak at least conversational Denebian, but it the end, all he could manage were a few simple phrases like 'thank you', 'excuse me', and 'where's the loo?'. His smile faded instantly, remembering that he'd never see his smiling Denebian companion again...

He and Harry had spent their first months on Mars exploring and adjusting to their new home. If Harry ever had reservations about leaving Earth behind, he never voiced them. Ron had submitted an application to the Mars Medical, while Harry secured a position with the Planetary Archives division. They settled in, and everything was going along fine until early 2263, when all hell broke loose.

The rebellion for independence from Earth was relatively short, but bloody. Tens of thousands died, and there were numerous occasions where had it not been for being immortal, both he and Harry would certainly have perished.

It took years to rebuild after that war, and that's when Ron first became aware of the change in Harry. The barely perceptible slide, the distance between them growing more pronounced by the day. He had tried to ignore or rationalize it away of course, but deep down he knew what was coming.

He'd found the data cassette next to the teapot. It was the day after his two hundred and eighty-third birthday. They had been together one hundred twenty-one years, four months, two weeks and five days. A very long time, by some reckoning. Ron stood in the tiny kitchen of their quarters, watching Harry gaze at him sheepishly from the small viewscreen. He hadn't even registered what Harry was saying; it didn't matter really, as it all amounted to the same result: Harry was gone.

Again.

The same pattern.

Come together. Tear apart. Repeat for eternity.

Ron was less angry and devastated than he had thought at Harry's departure. Mostly, he felt empty. He went about his work, and the few friends he'd made did their best to cheer him up. A few weeks later, Ron was standing on the surface, the helmet to his pressure suit upside down in the Martian dust. The horizon was quickly tinting pink, sunrise minutes away. The extremely thin atmosphere was bitingly cold, and his lungs protested strongly. He could, of course, exist for long periods in such inhospitable environments before his undead body finally ceased functioning. He'd just stood there, inhaling the frigid air, immediately amazed at the scent: sweet, with the slightest hint of mustiness. Not at all unpleasant, really.

Just before the sun cleared the mountaintops, Ron felt a hand clasp his shoulder. Martin had heard his anguish, even across the void of interplanetary space. His friend had looked ridiculous in the rental pressure suit. Ron had nearly collapsed in a fit of laughter at the sight of his old friend, but that quickly dissipated and morphed into light sobs. He and Martin had barely made it back to the airlock in time, with Ron Apparating them most of the way.

Martin had stayed with him for the next few days, long periods of silence punctuated by flurries of talk and tears. They spoke of many things, especially of Martin and his experiences after waking from the Sleep. Ron was amazed to learn that very few vampires that went to ground ever roused from their slumber. Martin was either uncertain of or unwilling to discuss what had awakened him, choosing instead to focus on the new Muggle technologies. He had urged Ron to avoid the transporter device at all costs. There was something about the process of the matter to energy to matter conversion that literally edited out their vampiric qualities. The few Dark children that had tried transporting materialized on the destination pad as little more than dried husks.

In the end, Ron resigned his position with Mars Medical. He closed up all of their accounts and bought an outbound ticket on the next transport, which happened to be heading for Altair, thirty light years distant. Martin watched as he boarded the transport, giving him a feeble wave.

Altair had been nothing like Earth or Mars, and while Ron had been exposed to aliens before, most notably Vulcans, he had been totally unprepared for his immersion into a vast, multi-species collective. The planetary climate was sub-tropical, with nearly the entire surface of the world covered in lush rainforest or swamps. It was quite an adjustment from the sterile domes of Mars. Events were rather chaotic when he arrived; there had been some sort of interstellar conflict with an alien race known as Romulans of which Ron had only been peripherally aware. A great debate had also been in progress as to whether Altair should align itself with the Earth based Federation or remain neutral. Ron chose to focus instead on making a life for himself there. He had been drawn once again to the medical arts, securing a position at one of Altair's Centers for Healing.

Being planetside once again, Ron had been free to feed nearly at will. Altair was rather densely populated at the time, the planet's humanoid natives seemingly perfect for him to feed on. Despite some major differences in the aliens' blood chemistry, he found that feeding from Altairians was nourishing, if not altogether satisfying. Over the years he had also made improvements to the Ministry's blood substitute so that it was now quite palatable. And he discovered that as time passed, his body seemed to require fewer infusions of fresh blood.

Just twice in his first three decades on Altair, he'd received sub-space messages from Harry. Both short and civil. Nothing shocking, just a few quick words as to where he was and what he was doing.

Another thirty years passed, and Ron nearly fainted when he found Martin softly knocking on the door of his tiny flat. Martin stayed with Ron for nearly a full year. Then, for reasons he didn't quite understand, Ron felt the need to move on. He purchased a modest ship, naming it _Molly's Folly_. In mid-March of 2323, Ron lifted off, once again watching as Martin waved farewell.

So many farewells. And they were never any easier to bear. Ron finished his drink, slowly rising from his chair and leaving the cafe. The crowd had thinned considerably, but he still had to thread his way through the milling throng. The space port was only a few miles away, on the northernmost outskirts of Q'a'lenn. He set off down the street, wading expertly through the other pedestrians.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of two heads of long, ginger hair off to his right and well down the street. They towered over the shorter natives, clearly humans. Ron quickened his pace, suddenly excited at the prospect of meeting some fellow Terrans so far from home. He closed to within ten yards when the pair of redheads turned in unison to face him. Fred and George smiled at him crookedly before turning down a narrow alley. Ron hesitated only a second before sprinting forward, heedless of those in his way. He reached the mouth of the alley a moment later, panting, his heart thudding in his chest. Glancing wildly about, he could find no sign of the twins. He rubbed his forehead, immediately feeling foolish. Too much bwa'neth, obviously. His brothers couldn't have possibly been there, of course.

They were both dead and buried, long gone, nothing but bones and dust.

He hated how his mind played tricks on him like this. Once he'd seen what had looked like Bill and Charlie, smack in the middle of the central Bazaar on Altair; while on Rigel, he was certain that his Mum and Dad had been waving at him from across a crowded street; on Deneva, he was sure he'd seen Ginny and Percy boarding a transport bound for Trill. He'd written off the sightings as mere flights of fancy, and he hadn't had one for decades. Still, there was no denying their unsettling effect. He composed himself, taking a deep breath and glancing once more down the empty alleyway.

"Cheers, lads," he whispered softly before turning about and heading on toward the space port.

After leaving Altair, he'd spent the next fifty-odd years travelling the quadrant, visiting every habitable planet or space station he could find. He had taken to piloting the small but powerful ship quite well. It was a prototype of the runabouts used by the Federation, and the onboard computer was very helpful and patient with him. In a few weeks, Ron was able to pilot the craft without the auto-nav. He found he rather enjoyed handling the vessel himself, oftentimes dropping out of warp to explore an especially interesting asteroid belt or uncharted nebula. After a fashion, he even programmed the computer for Wizard's Chess, although the infernal machine nearly always won.

There were more than a few close calls, of course, the worst when Ron crashed the _Folly_ on the third moon of Andoria. He had clipped an unmarked security field with his port nacelle, spiralling down to the surface in a matter of seconds. His ship had been badly damaged, requiring several weeks to repair. Once in space again, he'd encountered Ferengi traders and Zackdorn scrap dealers; he'd wandered the streets of Orion's capital city, Jamakra, and spent weeks on Risa, basking in the moonlight on its earthlike beaches. He spent nearly two years working with the T'kon on one of their vast, orbital medical ships. He had visited Vulcan, Betazed, and Bajor, especially enjoying the Bajoran's take on spirituality. While he wasn't entirely certain of what to make of The Prophets, there was no doubt that he found the Bajoran's inner peace and contentment most appealing.

It was while Ron was on board the huge space station orbiting Bajor that Martin found him again. He'd been strolling along the main Promenade, enjoying the bustle and energy there. He rounded a corner, nearly crashing into Martin, who gazed absently at an animated map of the station, as if it were the most natural thing in the universe to be doing.

They'd had a nice long chat in the station's bar, with Ron managing to get the slightest bit tipsy for the first time in a century or two. The bar's Ferengi owner appeared truly amazed at his ability to put away the alcohol, always making sure a fresh bottle of something called K'nar was on their table. They had discussed everything and nothing, each simply content to be in the company of the other. He and Martin even engaged in a game called D'abo, which seemed to resemble terran roulette.

Martin spent a few weeks on the station, eventually taking his leave and booking passage on a transport bound for Vulcan. Ron watched as the blocky looking transport vessel moved away, a tiny, star-bright flare signaling its jump to warp.

He'd walked the corridors aimlessly for quite some time, before finding himself in the small Bajoran temple. A lone cleric had been tending to the eternal flame at the altar as Ron sat down heavily on one of the stone benches. After a time, the cleric had moved toward him, bowing his head and murmuring a chant in Bajoran. Then, as was their custom, he had grasped Ron's left ear and gave it a firm squeeze.

Ron had nearly swooned at the cleric's touch, his mind going blank as the temple swam out of focus.

When his vision cleared, the cleric had been kneeling next to him on the floor, smiling widely. Ron never forgot his words then: "Your P'aa is very strong, fiery one. Though separated by distance, two souls bonded are never truly parted. You will always be cherished."

The cleric had helped him to his feet before returning to the altar.

Ron left the station later that day.

By then, another war had stormed to life, with the Federation battling a new enemy known as The Dominion. As a result, he was intercepted and boarded more than a few times by Federation starships, but his identity chips and documentation were always in order. A few silently cast _Imperios_ always came in handy, though. He sought to stay out of harm's way, even though the _Folly_ was rather well armed and shielded. Best way to avoid a fight was to not go looking for one, as his Mum used to say. Ron would never forget the time he came across the remnants of a fierce space battle. He had to slow to one quarter impulse to carefully maneuver through the immense field of wreckage, dozens of sleek starships reduced to drifting, spinning hulks.

Patterns again.

War. Destruction. Death. Peace.

Repeat.

The war with The Dominion ended of course, but only after a terrific loss of life and property. Ron's existence once again resumed its previous rhythm, travel, explore, learn, taste, move on. One amazing thing he discovered was that nearly every planet had its own version of those who could control and cast magic. Not all were as powerful as Terran wizards, but they existed.

He'd crossed paths with a handful of vampires, and even a werewolf.

He'd also sensed Harry more than a few times during those years as well, his energy faint, tenuous, but undeniable. Whether planetside or at warp, Ron could still at times feel his bondmate.

Always so near, and yet so far.

But of all the races he had encountered, he liked the Denebians most of all. They were so much like humans it was frightening. He had taken a liking to them instantly, staying on their planet for months instead of the usual week or two. They even played a sport that resembled Quidditch, except that it used rocket packs instead of broomsticks. Pell'ang'a.

That's how he'd met K'ayle. At a match.

Ron was so absorbed in his thoughts that he collided with an old woman heading in the opposite direction. She very nearly dropped her stack of parcels, sparing him an annoyed stare as she re-balanced her load.

"Pardon me," he replied smoothly. At first, he thought the translator was malfunctioning again, as she simply stared, her oversized green eyes boring right through him.

"Erm, m'la pa'neng," he offered in his best Denebian.

She stared at him a moment longer, her head cocking slightly to one side. Suddenly, her free hand was at the side of his face, her very long, thin fingers wrapping about the back of his head. Ron gasped in spite of himself as she gently but firmly brought his head closer to her; humans were a good head and an half taller than most Denebians.

The old woman's eyes literally glowed; Ron felt a sharp tingling sensation shoot right through his body and straight into his toes.

"Always be cherished, you will," she murmured in perfect Terran English.

Ron's head swam as his vision blurred. A string of images flashed through his mind, accompanied by a wailing chorus of black sound. He felt himself falling, his arms flailing uselessly for stability that wasn't there. The next instant, the sound stopped, his vision cleared, and he was on his knees in the middle of the street, the old woman moving off quickly and disappearing into the crowd.

Ron felt as if he'd been hit dead on by an errant quaffle. He felt dizzy as he knelt there on the hard packed earth, drawing curious stares from the passersby. Leaning forward, he took deep breaths. He focused on the battered and tarnished joining ring on his right hand; his copper necklace swinging to and fro as a wave of nausea coursed through him.

After a few moments, he stood up a bit too swiftly. Groaning, he stumbled over to the nearest building and steadied himself against the smooth stucco-like surface. He rubbed his temple roughly, as if the doing of it would dissipate the aching throb in his head.

"Bollocks," he said thickly.

The old woman had done quite a number on him. She'd obviously been a witch, casting the Denebian equivalent of _Legilimens_. That had to be it. How else would she have known to say that? No one knew the significance of those words anymore.

No one living, anyway.

Finally feeling somewhat composed, Ron glanced warily across the crowd. He saw no sign of the old Denebian, noting the usual mishmash of alien races that were common to hub worlds: a few humans, Vulcans, and Bajorans, one or two in uniform, coupled with the usual array of races from the non-aligned planets. He locked gazes with an Andorian wizard who merely smiled knowingly as he went by.

Ron took a deep breath and continued on his way. The crowd thinned still more as he moved away from the shopping district and into the outskirts. Deneb was unique in that it had no public mass transit. Nearly everyone walked or rode odd, low-slung bicycle-like contraptions. This was fine with Ron, especially since Apparating was not an option. There were too many electromagnetic fields in use to allow the safe use of magical teleporting.

No, Ron enjoyed walking, especially when he was planetside. He'd spent the last few years at the fringes of the sector, exploring the frontier worlds at the very edge of the Federation. It had always been K'ayle's dream to see those far off planets, and Ron had been too happy to oblige him. His only regret was that he had waited so long. Denebians were rather sturdy, but they didn't live forever. Actually, their lifespan was considerably shorter than that of humans. K'ayle was barely thirty-eight before that fateful diagnosis.

Three to five years. Nothing to Ron. And everything.

He'd pulled the _Molly's Folly_ out of mothballs, and two weeks later, they were warping away from Deneb with enough supplies to last them ten years. In the end, they only needed two years, three months and twelve days worth.

He'd known from the start how his relationship with K'ayle would end, of course. He was a vampire, an immortal, and K'ayle was only the second mate he'd chosen to live with. Ron had resisted the Denebian's advances initially, finally exposing his true nature as a Dark Creature in the hopes that the revelation would send K'ayle running. It didn't, and Ron had relented, lowering his barriers and allowing himself the luxury of loving once more. There'd been inter-species and cultural adjustments galore, but K'ayle took them all in stride. He'd never pressed Ron about his past, innately sensing the subject was best left alone. K'ayle's family took to Ron instantly, at once privy to his magical powers, but not his vampirism. According to K'ayle, and as far as Ron could tell, there were no such things as Denebian vampires.

Which was why K'ayle eventually asked Ron to Change him. Even though Ron had fully expected the request, he was by no means prepared for the onslaught of emotions that accompanied it. He'd felt stung, as if his skin had been stripped away and his body flayed wide open. For probably the first time, he'd told the story of how he'd been Changed, of his life with Harry, and how they'd been forever bound together, yet achingly separate. K'ayle had held him then, the sobs pouring out, until they finally ceased. K'ayle never mentioned it again.

Ron fed on K'ayle, of course. It became one of their most enjoyable rituals. K'ayle had loved the sensation of Ron's fangs on his skin, savouring the anticipation of the simultaneous, razor-sharp pain and pleasure as they pierced his tanned flesh. There was always a terrible moment when Ron would hesitate; the point when he knew that he must withdraw. But his vampire instincts would insist on rousing themselves, calling on him to continue drinking, sucking, pulling out the delicious lifeblood. He would unfailingly feel the slightest slip down that dark path, a faintly hypnotic song, always teasing. He'd feel himself on the brink, ready to fall, and seemingly at the last nanosecond, he'd pull back, ripping his fangs from his lover, his hard cock buried deeply, K'ayle screaming his name and both of them spilling their seed as one.

It never ceased to amaze him how two humanoids from such different worlds were so erotically compatible. Not every snog and shag session was one for the books, but sex was sex, even between an undead human wizard and a hunky Denebian Pell'ang'a champion.

In the end, Ron was still the sucker for sports heroes, even after four hundred years.

And now, K'ayle was home, cleansed and reduced in accordance with Denebian tradition, and all Ron had to show for eighteen years was a ring on his necklace. He held it now, absently turning the black metal over in his fingers.

"Yo'ma K'ayle me'lure," he murmured softly, rounding a corner and heading down a deserted street.

Looking up, he noted Deneb's two moons were very nearly full.

 _What would Remus make of that?_ he mused, instantly wincing at the all too familiar slice of pain that never failed to accompany such recollections. He tried in vain to push the thoughts away, but they were unrelenting. Martin had warned him repeatedly about the pitfalls of wallowing in the past. He usually succeeded in recalling only the good times; but inevitably, as now, his resolve crumbled.

All dead. Gone. For centuries now, for all Eternity.

The constant press of memory never ceased, growing heavier and more burdensome year after year. He missed them all. And yet here he was, tens of light years away from their bones, trudging along on an alien world, alone once more. He despised how he had retained so much of his human compassion, his connection to the living. Things would have been so much easier if the Change had made him more like...well, no point in going down _that_ road. What's done was done.

No sense re-hashing it for the thousandth time.

The space port squatted before Ron now, barely a hundred yards away. It was a completely utilitarian structure, devoid of any aesthetic value whatsoever. Another universal constant he'd discovered: uninspired public building design. His ship was no doubt re-fueled and ready for launch.

Now _there_ was a good one.

Where to go?

He'd have to file some sort of flight plan with the Space Authority. He stopped dead in his tracks, totally and completely at a loss. The _Folly_ was by no means the latest in design, but she'd make warp seven and had her own replicators and transporter. Plenty of room, too. He could go just about anywhere in the galaxy he wanted...

"Shite," Ron muttered, staring up at the huge, flat disc of the Milky Way. The night sky here was literally filled with stars, easily ten times as many as were visible from Earth.

So many suns, so many worlds, so many lives.

And he could conceivably visit them all...world and time enough.

A stiff gust of wind blew up, rustling the leaves of the spindly d'harro trees lining the narrow street. Ron's light, embroidered vest flapped open, the rush of air soothing against his bare chest and torso. Off in the distance, countless sets of windchimes tinkled importantly. They were everywhere on Deneb, tokens to their deities. Normally he found their sound calming, but tonight, they sang of nothing but sorrow and loss.

He was about to head on into the spaceport when he noticed something else. A whisper, low and steady, weaving its way through the night, coming toward him and wrapping itself about him like an old, comfortable blanket.

His pale, marble-like skin immediately broke out into gooseflesh; the whisper had found what it was looking for.

_"...I'm waiting..."_

Ron drew in a deep breath, turning away from the docking port and jogging down a sidestreet. He began to trot faster and faster, and before long he was streaking down the narrow, maze-like streets and alleys of Q'a'lenn.

_"...I'm here..."_

The jumble of buildings fell behind Ron as he moved with incredible speed, his enhanced physical abilities enabling him to reach his destination in a matter of minutes.

_"...just inside..."_

Ron skidded to a halt. Barely winded, he glanced behind him. The city shimmered far off in the distance, the tiny navigation lights of countless ships scribing graceful arcs above it.

Tall, thin d'harro trees pressed close to the narrow lane. A few yards ahead and to his right, a small hexagonal farmhouse was nestled in a clearing, a low stone fence separating the tiny yard from the road. The light from the twin moons bathed everything in a soft purplish light.

Ron approached the house, carefully unlatching the gate and walking up the stone path. He could see faint lamplight flickering in the windows. For the first time in decades, he stretched out with his mind, easily sensing a presence long absent from him. With a smile, he reached for the latch; it slid aside easily. He pushed the door open, stepping inside, his breath suddenly catching in his chest.

 _He_ was here.

_Now._

After so long, so many years, so many times that he'd sensed him nearby, only to feel him slip away again.

But not this time.

The farmhouse was a standard layout; the large, six-sided main room, with other rooms branching from it. The usual assortment of furnishings filled the combination kitchen, dining and living room. A hearth dominated the wall opposite the front door. It looked like this house had only one other room; a single door was partially open just to the right of the fireplace.

Two oil lamps flickered lazily on the mantel.

He moved around the collection of floor cushions that were the Denebian equivalent of a sofa, noting the Federation issue duffle lying there. It was unzipped, spilling its contents onto the beige cushions. He bent down and picked up a rumpled blue and black long-sleeved tunic, absently fingering the comm badge on the left breast. Then his eye caught a splash of orange fabric peeking out from the duffle. Dropping the tunic, Ron gently tugged on the orange garment, slowly pulling out the very worn and wrinkled old t-shirt. He unfolded it carefully, barely able to make out the faded lettering. Grinning, he buried his face in the ancient Chudley Cannons shirt, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply.

The scent was just as he remembered, musky, sweet, wonderful. It had been so very long...

"Hey."

Ron opened his eyes and turned around.

"Hey, yourself."

Harry stood in the doorway to the bedroom, his arms folded, his hair as mussed as ever, a small crooked grin on his face. He was wearing nothing but a very tattered pair of Chudley boxers. His eyes were more beautiful than Ron remembered, literally glowing in the dim lamplight. But behind the light, he could see the weariness there, the press of years that he knew was reflected nearly identically in his own. Ron eyed his bondmate hungrily, drinking in every square inch of Harry's bare skin and toned muscle.

Chuckling nervously, he dropped the t-shirt on the duffle bag.

"I never expected to see you here, Harry," he said softly, taking a tentative step toward the doorway.

"I hoped you'd hear me before you left," he replied with a shrug. "If you didn't, I could easily find you again. Not exactly hard to do. And that's _Lieutenant_ Potter, to you."

Harry jerked his head at the blue tunic.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Starfleet? You've got to be joking."

"Thanks for that, mate," Harry countered, doing his best to sound wounded. "I'm quite the expert on twentieth and twenty-first century Earth history, I'll have you know."

Ron was barely a foot away from Harry. "I wasn't under the impression that the Federation encouraged vampires to join their ranks."

Harry smirked. "Just as Earth Central didn't recruit Dark Creatures for Mars Medical, eh? Didn't stop you from practicing medicine there for, what was it? Twenty years?"

"Something like that," Ron answered absently. "You look good, Harry. Really good."

"Um, Dark Creature, here," Harry chuckled deeply, shaking his head. "But thanks. And you look just brilliant. Those clothes suit you, really."

"Thanks." Ron jerked his head, indicating the small farmhouse. "Nice place. Yours?"

"Yeah." Harry shrugged. "It was a bargain, and since the _Manchester_ is based in this sector, it also made sense."

Ron nodded. "Very nice. Airy." He took a deep breath, suddenly at a loss for words. He glanced downward, toeing the carpet with his boots. When he looked up again, Harry was grinning.

"What?" Ron asked nervously.

"You," Harry replied, after a moment's pause. "You're so bloody gorgeous."

Ron blushed as Harry reached out, carefully lifting Ron's necklace. He gazed at the small black ring, turning it over in his fingers.

"Denebian, right? What was his name?"

"K'ayle. He played Pell'ang'a for Q'a'lenn. Guard. Oh, and Pell'ang'a is a lot like-"

"Quidditch," they both said in unison, laughing heartily afterwards.

"You know the sport?" Ron asked smoothly, stepping the slightest bit closer.

"Yeah, there's a handful of Denebians on the _Manchester_ , so they get live feeds of the matches when the ship's in range."

Ron nodded sagely, finally catching Harry's scent. "So you're on leave, then?"

Harry snorted. "You could say that. It seems vampires aren't as welcome on starships as I thought." Ron made to speak, but Harry put a finger to his lips. "Long story. Suffice to say that I was found out, but only my Captain and Chief Medical Officer know the truth. They won't go public as long as I resign my commission."

"I'm sorry, Harry."

"Don't be. Fifteen years is a good run. All good things, right?"

Ron reached out and ran his hand across Harry's chest. His heart was pounding in his ribcage, a steady rhythm he felt all the way down in his rapidly engorging cock. He licked his lips as he noted that Harry was similarly aroused.

"Why did you stay away?" he murmured, leaning in to nuzzle Harry's cheek. "It's been so long. Nearly a hundred years, for Merlin's sake."

Harry arched his back, brushing his groin against Ron's. "You know why," he breathed, his hands gliding under Ron's vest and snaking their way up his muscular torso. "We've been through this. After what happened on Mars, when you very nearly...if it hadn't been for Martin, you wouldn't be standing here now."

"How did you know..." Ron tailed off at Harry's knowing grin. "Martin."

"He's contacted me a few times over the years," Harry replied quietly. "He really cares for you. He understands." He rolled his eyes. "I just wish he'd stop calling me Wren."

Ron chuckled, wrapping his arms about Harry's waist, one hand sliding down inside the loose boxers and cupping Harry's smooth arse. "Thank the Prophets for Martin. He always seems to know...yeah, he just knows. As for Mars, well, I was much younger then," he offered, nibbling at Harry's ear. "I understand things a bit better now."

Harry gently but firmly pushed him away. "Don't lie to me, Ron," he growled, tapping his temple with a forefinger. "There's nothing you can hide from me, mate."

"Yeah, got me there," Ron sighed, burying his head on Harry's shoulder. "God, Harry, you feel so good...so bloody good." He pressed closer, slowly grinding his hips against Harry's waist. "Missed you so much...so very fucking much!"

Harry held him tightly, rubbing small circles across Ron's back. "It's okay, it's okay. I know and I'm here. It's all fine now, love. Everything will be fine. C'mon."

Ron lifted his head and mashed his lips to Harry's. They stumbled through the door and across the tiny bedroom, falling roughly onto the large bed. Harry wriggled about until they were in the center of the thick mattress, with Ron straddling his hips. Ron pulled himself up and shrugged out of his vest. He made to untie his belt to remove his breeches, but Harry's hand stilled his.

"Let me, love." Harry grinned widely.

The next instant they were both naked, the cool night breeze caressing their sweat-slicked skin. Ron moved his hands slowly up Harry's legs, gliding over calves and knees, finally massaging his thighs, the silky smooth hairs tickling Ron's fingers. He drank in the sight of Harry's body before him, still toned and firm and lovely, even after four hundred years. He leaned down, Harry's eyes locked onto his.

Harry moaned deeply, Ron's tongue deftly teasing his furred bollocks.

Ron paused there a moment before languidly drawing his tongue up and along Harry's rigid shaft. Harry lifted his hips up from the mattress slightly, groaning as Ron's mouth closed around his aching cock.

Ron sucked and pulled on Harry's member greedily, swirling his tongue all around its hyper-sensitive tip. He felt Harry's body jerking with pleasure.

"Oh, god, Ron, _oh god_ , love that, so bloody good!" Harry gasped out. "Stop. Stop!"

Ron felt Harry's hand firmly push his head up and away. Ron complied, Harry's erection flopping against his flat stomach with a satisfying _thwack_. Ron gazed up at Harry, his emerald eyes literally aglow with passion.

"I want you inside me," Harry panted, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. 

Ron nodded, roughly spreading Harry's legs apart. A small tube shot from the other room, Harry catching it easily with one hand. 

Ron took the tube, twisting off the cap and flinging it away. He squeezed a huge dollop of the clear, lavender scented lubricant on his fingers, applying it to his now aching cock. He heard Harry moaning appreciatively.

"Love watching you do that," Harry whispered, smiling as Ron worked the lube up and down his hard shaft. 

"Yeah?" Ron replied playfully, biting his lower lip and stroking himself with increased intensity. 

"Ohhhh, yeah," Harry murmured between breaths. "So beautiful—"

"So are you," Ron responded quickly, grinning and extending his fangs.

"Fuck me, Ron," Harry gasped, his eyes ablaze. "Need you inside me."

Ron nodded, squeezing out more lube, applying it generously to the area around Harry's entrance. He teased Harry's tensed opening, slowly inserting two fingers inside. Harry gasped and bucked as he moved them in and out gently, carefully pushing his fingers apart as he worked. 

"PleaseooohpleaseRon," Harry hissed. "Needyounow!"

"As you wish," Ron responded.

He withdrew his fingers, quickly pressing the head of his swollen member against Harry's entrance. With a swift stroke, he buried his cock deeply into Harry, pausing only a second before thrusting in and out with increasing speed. Harry was panting, arching his back and flaying his head from side to side, his own fangs now fully extended.

"FuckRonyes! OhyeahmybeautifulfuckingRon!"

"Love you, Harry," Ron gasped, "Loveyousomuch!"

Harry reached between them, his fingers encircling his own hard cock. He stroked himself furiously in rhythm to Ron's pounding. They gasped and moaned in unison, until Ron suddenly stopped in mid thrust. He bent down swiftly, burying his fangs into Harry's shoulder as he came. Harry screamed then, likewise sinking his elongated teeth into Ron. 

Harry spilled his seed as well, and each fed on the other, their lifeblood intermingling as if for the first time.

 

__

**~~~ * ~~~**

 

Ron lay next to Harry, his head on Harry's chest, an arm about his waist, their legs entwined.

He thought they'd be uncomfortable like this, but he felt fine, and so did Harry, apparently. Ron could feel the gentle rise and fall of Harry's chest, the smooth, shallow breaths indicating his bondmate was fast asleep. He snuggled closer to Harry, not feeling the slightest bit tired. It would be dawn soon, and he'd sleep enough then. Right now, he wanted to enjoy every sensation, every moment of their time together. He had nearly forgotten how wonderful Harry felt, all smooth skin and taut muscle.

He felt sated in a way he hadn't in decades.

He'd already experienced pangs of guilt over shagging so soon after K'ayle's death. He shoved those feelings aside, only to have them replaced by those old and all too familiar feelings of anxiety. Feelings that had nearly pushed him over the edge, more than once.

Bloody hell, he loved Harry, and they were bonded, immortal!

Why in Merlin's name couldn't they stay together? Why did they always have to perform this intricate dance, coming together, only to rip themselves apart again?

After all the years, it still made no sense to him. Would this be the way of it for all Eternity?

Blissful reunions followed by heart-rending partings, repeating over and over again until _time itself_ came to an end?

He held Harry tighter, staring out the huge, open window, the curtains billowing languidly in the slight breeze. The moons had set, but the crickets still chirruped contentedly. Well, not crickets, of course, as the Denebian equivalent was more like a spider. But they sounded amazingly alike.

Ron sighed.

Perhaps this time would be different.

Maybe Harry would want to stay together. Why not? They were both free, able to start anew. But what if it turned out like it always did? He didn't think he could bear that again. Eternity alone, with Harry just out of reach was something he'd managed to make work. Barely. If Harry hadn't called to him earlier...

"Ronnie."

Ron lifted his head; Harry was smiling at him.

"Hey," Ron muttered sheepishly. "Didn't mean to wake you with my fidgeting."

"You didn't."

"Oh."

Harry sat up against the headboard. Ron hoisted himself up as well, pressing against Harry.

"Erm, about K'ayle," Ron began hesitantly, but Harry shushed him immediately.

"You loved him, and he loved you, right? What passed between you is none of my business."

"But Harry, you—"

"Hey, no worries, okay? I understand and it's all good," Harry responded gruffly, shaking Ron and kissing the top of his ginger head. "I wasn't about, and you had no idea as to whether you'd ever see my face again."

"Actually, I was more concerned about not seeing your wonderful arse again," Ron shot back, a smile teasing his lips.

Harry playfully shook Ron again, tilting his head up. "Git."

"Prat."

They kissed, their lips soft and warm, falling into the familiar pattern of their tongues gently probing the other's mouth. Ron moaned, marvelling at how each kiss with his bondmate seemed better than the last. He pulled away first, flopping back against the headboard.

"So I was thinking," Ron began, his voice filled with mock cheerfulness, "I've got a ship, and she's all provisioned and ready to go—" He looked over to Harry, who was shaking his head.

"And where do you think we should go? Back to Earth perhaps?"

Ron shuddered. "No, of course not. Nothing there for either of us anymore."

"But surely you have family back there," Harry prodded gently.

Ron snorted, snuggling closer. "Strangers with my surname. Some even look like—" He paused a moment, swallowing hard. "No, they're all gone. There's nothing left there."

"Yeah," Harry answered softly. "Well, where then?"

Ron laced his fingers with Harry's as he looked out the window. The sky above the trees was deep purple and brightening rapidly; dawn was approaching. He absently noted that the window faced due south, directly into the sunrise. He squeezed Harry's hand tightly.

"I don't know. Somewhere. Anywhere. We could even stay here."

Harry cupped his chin, lifting his face up.

"My poor, sweet Ron. You haven't changed a bit. You feel everything as keenly as when you were first Made. And I can sense you, I feel what you feel, I know what you go through when we're together. And after."

"Harry, don't, I can't lose you again—"

"Shhh, now, that's enough of that." Harry pulled Ron close, kissing his forehead. "You'll never lose me, mate. We're bonded, always have been, always will be. I've loved you from that first day on the Hogwarts Express. I feel it in the very core of my being. There's no way something that strong will ever die."

Ron snuggled Harry's neck, sighing. The sky was now a pale gray purple.

"So tired," Ron murmured. "So many gone. I miss them, Harry. It's so unfair that we're still here, and they—"

"I know, Ron, I know. I'm tired too." He tilted Ron's head up again. "Love you, mate."

They kissed then, softly, gently, the tips of their tongues brushing together. When they broke apart, Ron smiled finally.

"Love you too, Harry. Always know that."

"Yeah," Harry whispered in response.

They held each other tightly, watching as the first hints of the sun broke through the trees.

A ray of sunlight washed through the window, slowly creeping its way across the floorboards toward the bed.

"Harry—" Ron murmured, his voice wavering.

"I'm here, love. Just close your eyes."

 

**~~~ * ~~~**

 

Martin pushed open the door to the bedroom, looking about warily before slowly walking in. It was well past midnight, and the tiny room was awash in shadows. He moved slowly over to the bed, setting the oil lamp on the rickety nightstand.

He knelt down next to the mattress, the rough shape of two blackened forms lying there like some sort of perverted relief. He stared at the lumps of ash, one hand over his mouth, for a very long time. A warm breeze wafted through the window, catching the fine black dust and swirling it about into a multitude of tiny zephyrs.

Specks of the incredibly fine ash flittered into his face, covering the front of his travelling cloak with a light powder.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly reached over, scooping up the necklace. He stared at it for many moments.

"Sleep well, my fiery one," he murmured softly, quickly stuffing the necklace into his pocket. He was about to stand when he noticed two rings glinting in the weak lamplight. He carefully picked both of them up, straining to read the inscriptions. Pressing his lips together into a thin line, he dropped the bonding rings into his pocket.

Snatching up the lamp, he turned to leave. Just before he reached the door, he spun about, flinging the lamp with all his might. It shattered against the wall in a burst of flame, the oil igniting the wallcovering. The flames spread quickly, reaching the bed in a matter of minutes.

He strode quickly out of the burning house, never looking back. Standing in the tiny front yard, he stared up into the night sky, watching as the vast array of stars blazed brightly.

With a deep breath, he rose from the ground and arrowed away into the Denebian night.

 

**~~~ * ~~~**

 

A bright sliver of moon hid behind narrow wisps of cloud, its pale, blue light reflecting across the barely rippling surface of the water.

Martin moved silently as he stepped from the forest to the water's edge. The journey from Deneb had taken nearly a week. He'd come directly to Buzias, knowing without doubt that she would be there, as was her custom, communing with the warm, natural springs she had adored her entire life.

Marilena stood there, knee-deep in the water, her back to him, arms outstretched, her long, ebony tresses flowing down to the small of back. Her pale skin appeared to shimmer, incredibly smooth and beautiful, like some sort of marble, carved from the very darkness and moonlight itself.

"It is true, then." Marilena stated softly. "My youngling is no more. And your Ronald—"

"They gave themselves over to the Light, the cold fire claiming then both," Martin replied flatly. "Ronald sought solace amongst the stars, his journey coming to an end on a distant world. I was too late..."

Marilena turned then, her arms falling to her sides. "Indeed. How many times had you intervened to save your Fiery One from the Light?" She rose out of the water, skimming across its surface to the rocky shore. Her robe floated to her outstretched hand. "The Dark Gift affects each differently. Do not despair, Martin. It is the way of things."

"Yes," Martin agreed, his voice low. "But such knowledge is little comfort."

Marilena stepped close to him, a slender finger caressing his chin. "The light which burns twice as bright, burns twice as fast. And your Ronald burned so very brightly."

Martin nodded. "Who shall tell him then, you or I?"

Marilena smiled thinly. "I'm sure he has sensed the change, but I shall go and tell him of his childe."

Martin opened his hand, the two bonding rings glimmering in the faint moonlight. Marilena picked up Harry's, deftly slipping it into her robes. She then closed Martin's hand over Ron's ring, smiling once again. He made to speak, but she stilled his lips with her fingers.

"Your Ronald would desire you to have this. And so you shall."

Martin bowed his head. "Thank you."

Marilena withdrew her hand. "Find a way to rejoice in the gift that you had in your Fiery One. He would not wish his memory to be so burdensome." She lifted off the ground, the night breeze teasing her dark hair.

"Farewell, old friend."

With a soft _pop_ , she Apparated.

Martin remained there for some time, the warm waters of the mineral pond lapping contentedly against the shore.

Off in the distance, the low, mournful howl of a wolf echoed through the dense stands of trunks. He opened his hand, staring at the worn ring of copper lying in his palm. Picking it up, he turned it about, studying it intently.

The wolf howled once again, and as a small smile formed, Martin slipped Ron's ring onto his finger.

"Mo chuisle mo chroí," he whispered, turning on his heel and disappearing into the forest.

 

 

 

**_~ fin ~_ **

 

**Author's Note:**

> _p'o'nith -- Denebian for 'thank you'_  
>    
>  a'mon tus -- Denebian for 'you're welcome'  
>    
>  m'la pa'neng -- Denebian, 'excuse me'  
>    
>  Yo'ma K'ayle me'lure -- Denebian, 'Love you, K'ayle'  
>    
>  Mo chuisle mo chroí -- Gaelic for 'the pulse of my heart'  
>    
>  Marilena's quote, "The light which burns twice as bright..." is taken from Ridley Scott's BLADE RUNNER.

> 
>  
> 
>   
> 


End file.
